Real, or Not Real?
by SoSaysL
Summary: A wave of snarling, red-and-yellow fire has descended from the sky and engulfed us all...Have I finally left reality? In that moment I realize that reality scarcely matters, for no matter what this world may be, I'm living in it. An alternate ending to Mockinjay.


**Real or Not Real? - **set at the end of Book 3, as Katniss approaches Snow's mansion.

Their deaths…I can hardly breathe. Boggs, Mitchell, Finnick, and so many others…how many deaths have I caused? They have entrusted me with their lives, and this is what happened. They _knew_ I wasn't operating on official orders. They _knew_ I'd decided on this mission by myself, and followed me anyway.

Here I am, alone, in a surreal world that hardly knows me. Following the mockinjay is akin to suicide. I am doomed, for I _am_ the mockinjay. My attempts for the rebellion are futile. I cannot belong to a world with atrocities like this.

I sway slightly where I stand, and his voice lilts through my mind.

_Katniss. Real or not real?_ Peeta asks, and when I close my eyes he is there beside me, looking concerned at my piteous state.

_Not real. _I answer, indulging the hallucination if only for a while. _Not real_. For how real can this nightmare be? Even when I have survived everything, the memories have scarred my soul. And now…

_Katniss._ Peeta whispers. _You said it yourself. _

Determined, I press on. I will not let him down, I will not fail Prim, I will be the Mockinjay—

_Not. Real._ Peeta says softly. _Katniss, this is—_

I press on toward Snow's mansion, knowing I can't let myself slip now. This is my last hope, and despite the voices in my mind, I'm still sane enough to know I'm not supposed to hear them.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock..._

_Oh, dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had an agreement not to lie to each other._

_Are you, are you coming to the tree? Strange things did happen there, no stranger would it be…_

_Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without._

_Whatever it takes to break you._

_Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!_

I shake my head, knowing that I cannot, will not, listen to them.

The sky shifts to an unnatural color of blue, and although it's broad daylight, if I strain my eyes I can see the stars. I try to keep my footing steady and my thoughts clear, but this time he sounds as if he's speaking not from a great distance, but from right beside me.

"Katniss. This is not real."

"Peeta." I gasp hoarsely. "Stop talking to me. You're making me think I'm losing my mind."

He is silent for a moment, and then I can almost sense his gentle smile. "I've already lost mine, Katniss."

I barely have time to reflect on his words, for parachutes float lightly from the sky. Dread gathers like a pile of stones in my heart. I already know what will happen, and yet somehow the vital words are choked in my throat as the children rush towards them gratefully.

It only takes a second for the explosion to leave wounded, dead, bleeding, and dying bodies on the ground. I shake my head in despair, before my gaze catches on _her_. My little duck.

Proudly, I see that she's on the rebel medical team now, hurrying towards the wounded with urgency. Prim smiles, happy to be where she can be useful, and—

I know. With a sure, sickening certainty, my eyes widen as the burden of knowledge drops on my shoulders. I think of Gale as he thoughtfully considers the traps, the lure, and the final, shattering explosion, and—

"PRIM!" I yell, tears clouding my eyes. She is the reason this rebellion ignited, the spark behind the flame. She is my hope, my Mockinjay, and a searing pain stabs into my chest as I stand there helplessly. "PRIM!"

She doesn't have the time to turn around, for a wave of snarling, red-and-yellow fire has descended from the sky and engulfed us all. The inferno roars and cackles evilly. I cannot breathe in the suffocating grey smoke, and certainly not in the knowledge that she is gone forever. Or is this another part of the dream? I wonder, feeling strangely immune to the scorching heat that consumes me. Have I finally left reality?

In that moment I realize that reality scarcely matters, for no matter what this world may be, _I'm_ living in it. Peeta's voice cries my name, his voice ringing in my ears, as I lose myself to the unforgiving darkness.

* * *

"She's finally lost it." A voice says dryly. _Haymitch, _I think.

"She's just a bit traumatized, that's all." Peeta answers defensively. "Anyone would be."

"You're one to talk, Mr. I've-got-false-memories-in-my-mind-that-make-me-want-to-kill-Katniss!"

"Hey, I've gotten over that now! For the most part, anyway!"

"Well then." Finnick says, leaning over me as my eyes snap open. "I suppose you couldn't go for too long without a glimpse of your favorite trident-wielding hero, now, could you?"

"Finnick!" I say, looking around with wide eyes, my hands anxiously clutching at the sheets. His presence can only mean one thing. "I'm…I'm dead." I say, feeling the foreign words pass my lips.

Finnick and Peeta exchange a dubious look. "It looks like she's really insane." Haymitch says gruffly out of nowhere. "Sweetheart, you're alive. And if you're just pretending to be insane, you can stop it right now."

"Rebellion's over. We've won. It hasn't been easy, but we've won." Peeta tells me matter-of-factly. "The only problem right now is why you've still been in a coma for so long. Some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder."

I stare at him suspiciously. "A coma." Perhaps I truly was dead, and my reality would lie forever in futile, restless dreams.

"A coma." Finnick repeated. "For the longest time." The usual playful twinkle in his eyes is gone, and I know that despite his teasing, the old Finnick has changed.

If I am indeed dead, what use is there worrying about it? How could I know, indeed, what is real anymore? I lean back against the pillows, energy spent.

"So Prim's alive." I sigh, letting out a relieved breath.

Again, the three share a worried glance. I don't like the look of it at all.

"Whatever it is, spit it out." I say vehemently. "_Now."_

"Prim…is dead." Haymitch says uncomfortably. "War is war, and there were bombings, and…"

I turn to Peeta. I can't help the fact that my voice is almost imploring. "I thought I lived through an entire…well, _raid_ on the Capitol. I don't know when the dream started, or if I'm hallucinating even now. If there's anyone else who died, tell me."

Peeta looks straight into my eyes earnestly. "Yes. President Snow, for one. Many people died."

He sees the way my brow furrows, and the way I tilt my head, as if listening for voices besides his own.

"Katniss." His voice is urgent, and I am struck by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm here. I love you, and you love me. Real, or not real?"

"Real." I say softly. For once, I know that it's true.


End file.
